


Declaration of Interdependence

by mirajanihiggins



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Declarations Of Love, M/M, Post S4, Soft John Watson, soft sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 09:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12651027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirajanihiggins/pseuds/mirajanihiggins
Summary: After Mary's death and John's recovery from being shot in the head by Eurus, he and Sherlock must come to a new understanding of their relationship.





	Declaration of Interdependence

The air was thick with... _awkward_.

 

Ever since John had returned to Baker Street, Sherlock had been prowling around uneasily, like a caged panther with a toothache. Something was _eating_ at him, but John couldn’t figure out what. He wouldn’t talk in more than monosyllables. He wouldn’t eat, even from John’s plate, as was his wont. He slept less than usual, which meant he looked like a grumpy panda due to the dark circles under his eyes.

 

“Spill it,” John finally said, from his position comfortably ensconced in his chair. “Something’s bugging you.”

 

“Ridiculous,” Sherlock growled back, not even bothering to turn his head back toward John as he stared out the front window.

 

“Nope. You’re moodier than usual and you’re _really_ getting on my nerves now.” John folded up the paper and laid it across his knees. After interlacing his fingers in his lap, he continued. “Ever since I returned from hospital, you’ve been in a right state. Why?”

 

“Nothing!” Sherlock snapped. This time, he _did_ look at John, and his expression, usually so guarded, was more open than John had ever seen it. The concern—the _pain_ —in his eyes, in the set of his mouth, were _there,_ screaming across the room at him. 

 

John’s own eyes narrowed in appraisal. He had learned a great deal since coming to live with Sherlock, especially how to read people, and Sherlock’s body language told him  _everything_ Sherlock would  _not_ .

 

In the most reasonable voice he could muster, John said, “Sherlock, I’m  _fine_ . There’s no need to worry about...”

 

“About my sister shooting you in the head and leaving you for dead because I didn’t play with her as a child,” Sherlock responded, irritably. “About me, writing someone _so dangerous_ out of my own memory because of what a toxic, manipulative person she was.” He paced away from the window, his soft step barely even rumpling the carpet. “I put _your life_ at risk because of your association with me, _once again_ , and that is _unforgivable_.”

 

John’s head canted to one side in contemplation. “I was in constant danger in Afghanistan, too...”

 

“A false argument, John. You didn’t know me then. No one was going to walk up to you, thrust a gun in your face and say, ‘You know Sherlock Holmes and, therefore, you must die’,” he retorted sourly.

 

“Well, to be honest, your sister didn’t say that, either...” John continued reasonably.

 

“OH, DO SHUT IT, JOHN! I’m _tired_ of you always making excuses for my lapses in behavior, always covering up my errors in judgement. WHEN WILL YOU STOP BEING RIGHT ALL THE TIME? IT’S ANNOYING!” Sherlock shouted as he flatmate, his eyes flashing lightning.

 

John shrugged. “When you stop blaming yourself for not being perfect, I suppose.”

 

Sherlock stiffened unconsciously and stared down at John. He blinked several times before carefully formulating a reply. “John, my ‘imperfections’, as you call them, resulted in you nearly being  _killed_ because I missed a  _vital clue_ ...”

 

“Which you wouldn’t have had to worry about if your sister and Moriarty hadn’t been in cahoots, hadn’t both been crazy as bedbugs in the _first_ place. Give credit where credit is _due_ , Sherlock. You SAVED me! If you hadn’t figured it out and found me when you did, _I_ would be six feet under and _you’d_ be busy drugging yourself into oblivion because of guilt.” He leaned forward. “Sherlock, I’m _fine_. It’s _over_. They’re both safely locked away.”

 

“She was locked away _before_ , and she got out.”

 

John wilted. Nothing he could say seemed to be touching Sherlock in any meaningful way. The guilt, the self-blame, still wound around him like a pyre of smoke. He wouldn’t meet John’s eyes, which,  _alone_ , was a bad sign. He was hiding something  _big_ , concealing the true core of his festering mood.

 

“Just say it,” John encouraged. 

 

Sherlock gave him a questioning look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stonewalled.

 

Eye roll. “Whatever you have to say, just…  _say it_ , please. I  _promise_ you, there’s  _nothing_ you can say that I will allow to come between us, to compromise our friendship.  _Please_ , Sherlock...it’s, it’s eating you  _alive!_ ”

 

Sherlock’s lips parted and he swallowed, hard. 

 

“ _Please_...Sherlock...”

 

Sherlock closed his eyes in defeat. “There was something I wanted to say to you, back on the tarmac, that I just... _couldn’t_ say. Not  _then_ . Maybe not  _now_ , either...”

 

“ _Say_ it.” John urged intently, his voice low and urgent.

 

Head turned away, hands steepled in front of his mouth as if physically holding back a flood of words, Sherlock said, tightly, “You are an intelligent man, John. I have always thought so.”

 

John blinked in surprise. “Thank you. I wasn’t aware of that.”

 

A slight nod. “So,  _that_ being the case, you  _must_ have figured out that...that I have... fallen in love.”

 

John nodded in return, his mouth flat-lining. “Yeah. Yeah, I finally figured that out.” He paused. “Irene’s a lucky woman. The Dominatrix gets the Posh Boy.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes popped open and he stared down at John in astonishment. “I take that back, John. You’re an  _idiot_ .”

 

John’s eyebrows rose and his face assumed an expression of total cluelessness. “Oh? Tell me why  _now,_ oh brilliant one?”

 

After affecting a deeply frustrated sigh, Sherlock continued reluctantly,” John, I’m not in love with Irene. In case you didn’t notice, she’s  _gay_ ...” His voice softened, until it was practically inaudible. “ and so  am I. I’m in love with  _you_ .”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

A disbelieving look was leveled John’s way by the Greatest Living Detective in the World. “Wait… what ?”

 

John smiled ruefully. “I figured _that_ out  while I was recovering in hospital, maybe even _before_ I married Mary, I knew,  on _some_ level, that you were, at the _very_ least, _attracted_ to me.” He sighed. “Should have called off the  whole wedding when...” He ran a hand over his face. “Oh, Jeez, remember that disastrous Bachelor Party?”

 

“How can I forget? I _vomited_ on an active crime scene,” Sherlock muttered, in obvious embarrassment.

 

“Well, I’m afraid _I_ can take partial credit for it, Sherlock. You see, when you weren’t looking, I...uh… doctored the beers a bit...”

 

Sherlock’s eyebrows crashed right above his nose. “You  _what_ ?  _Why_ ? John, I had it all very carefully planned out...”

 

John waved a hand in dismissal. “Yeah, I know you did, but  _I_ had  _another_ agenda. Y’see, I...I wanted to get you drunk...”

 

“Again, _w_ _hy_?”

 

“So I could...aw, _hell_ , this sounds _terrible_ , but, because I wanted to _take you to bed_.  And I _knew_ you’d be receptive...I mean, you _did_ say, ‘Anytime’...but we were _interrupted_. ”

 

A silver-eyed,  surprised look followed. Sherlock’s jaw dropped daintily. 

 

“Oh. I thought it was just a _mistake_... ”

 

_Shit,_ _**not** _ _the way this should have played out_ . “Listen, Sherlock, I’ve been...I’ve wanted to  _be_ with you for a long time...”

 

“Sexually, you mean. Yes, you made _that_ clear on our first case,  at Angelo’s...”

 

“SHUT IT AND LISTEN! This is hard enough as it is. At first, _yes_ , I _mainly_ just wanted to bed you, but after a while, I started feeling... _more_. I just...I just couldn’t _admit_ it to myself, that I was actually...you know...”

 

Sherlock blinked. “You always  _said_ you were ‘Not actually gay’,” he said, without rancor. “ I  _believed_ you, until the reception.”

 

John grimaced uncomfortably. “Yeah, I know. A half-truth that covered up a bigger lie. I learned to say that when I was younger so I wouldn’t get beaten by my father or called out by some of the less-tolerant soldiers in my group. Truth is, Sherlock, I find women attractive and  _like_ to have sex with them, but I  _always_ seem to fall in love with... _men_ .” He squirmed in his seat.  _God, I feel like I’m sitting here naked with an erection_ _and an “Unspeakable twat” sign over my head_ _..._

 

Sherlock’s face fell. “Like Major Sholto. Yes, I saw the two of you together at the reception. You were quite… _overjoyed_ to see him. _That’s_ when I realized that you  actually _did_ like men _._ I reasoned _then_ that you  just...didn’t want _me_. And _Mary_ made that _quite clear_ , as well.”

 

John stared at Sherlock in appalled shock. “Didn’t _want_ you? Sherlock, you were my Best Man, my best _friend_ in all the world _._ I would have followed you through _hell_ , if you asked. If not for Mary, I would have _killed myself_ before you came back...”

 

The look Sherlock gave him stopped him  dead  in his tracks.  _Mary. Still a sore point for him. Divert..._

 

“Yeah, well, I _was_ happy James came,”John admitted,  backpedaling ferociously. “I...I _did_ feel something for him, a long time ago. Still _do_ , in my _memories_ , but neither one of us is the same person we were back then. We’ve _both_ moved on. I just need to move on a bit _further_ now.” He stood, then walked toward Sherlock, whose eyes followed him like a tracking falcon.

 

John raised a hand and laid it on Sherlock’s arm where it was pulled tightly against his chest, still shielding his heart. “Sherlock, you’ve always taken _yourself_ to task for not being smart enough to keep me safe, yet I’ve berated _myself_ over and over again  for my lack of bravery in confronting my _real_ feelings about things. I’m so _angry_ all the time; at _myself_ , at _you_ , at my _father_...because _I_ couldn’t overcome _my own shame_ at being attracted to men, for buying into the whole masculine stereotype  my father forced down my throat...” He stepped in closer and looked up into Sherlock’s shining eyes. “It’s time for me to put all that _away_ , Sherlock. _You_ haven’t failed me, _not once._ I _,_ on the _other_ hand, have failed _you_ _every single day_ since we met by never acknowledging my own feelings and acting upon them. Sherlock, I...” He slid a hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck, pulling his head down so that he could whisper in his ear. “I love you, you beautiful, brilliant idiot.”

 

He felt Sherlock shiver as the breath from his lips ghosted over his ear. As he pulled back, Sherlock redirected the movement so that their lips met briefly before withdrawing completely, a quizzical yet hopeful look on his face. 

 

John grinned and pulled him down again into a proper snog. 

 

“John,” was all Sherlock could say, his voice low and shaking with emotion. It sent a thrill down John’s spine and directly to his nether regions.

 

“I _know_ , Sherlock, I know,” John whispered back. “And I’m going to make all that lost time up to you, I _promise_.”

 

A couple of rogue tears escaped Sherlock’s brimming eyes as his breath caught in his chest. “As will  _I_ ,” he murmured as he kissed John’s forehead and slid his arms around the smaller man, laying his cheek on John’s head. John fell into the embrace easily, amazed at how well they fit together, how  _comfortable_ this felt now. 

 

“There are _always_ two of us,” Sherlock said softly, remembering a dream he once had.

 

“Yeah. And there always _will_ be,” John agreed, wholeheartedly.


End file.
